


Sometimes

by tiger_moran



Series: Lyric [12]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, Drunk Sex, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Loneliness, Loss, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Referenced Gambling, Referenced James Moriarty, Referenced Moriarty/Moran, Unhealthy Relationships, no actual sex shown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27489181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: Twelfth in a collection of standalone but also interconnected Moriarty and Moran fics inspired by lyrics from songs, particularly pop/rock songs.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Ronald Adair
Series: Lyric [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992709
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> Erasure – Sometimes
> 
> Ooh, sometimes  
> The truth is harder than the pain inside, yeah  
> Ooh, sometimes  
> It's the broken heart that decides

It is dark when they come out of the Bagatelle club, which seems to make Adair rather bolder than usual, although even inside whilst they played he kept on trying to stroke Moran's leg under the table with the tip of his booted foot.

Moran has drunk too much although he is still doing a passable impression of being sober. There is money in his pocket, newly won, although what does money really mean to him any more? He only plays cards, only cheats, because he doesn't know what else to do, and because he can't help himself.

“I know somewhere we can go,” Adair tells him, catching his hand, all but hauling Moran into the carriage that has just pulled up.

“Where...?”

“Shhhh, it's a surprise.”

As soon as they are inside the carriage and away Adair tries to climb onto Moran's lap and kiss him.

“For Christ's sake, Ronnie.” Moran pushes the young man aside, though this doesn't seem to deter him much. “Aren't you engaged?” he asks, as Adair settles for sitting beside him, pouting slightly.

“Oh, her,” Adair says airily. “I suppose... we were rather childhood sweethearts, in a way, but that is the problem with childhood isn't it, one is a _child_ then, and no child really knows what it wants then, does it?”

Moran, thinking back to his own childhood, thinks he would have settled for his father dying instead of his mother; his infant sister surviving too perhaps.

“And what is it you want now then?” he asks. A stupid question really – it's very obvious from the bulge in Adair's trousers what he wants, at least at this exact moment.

In the gloom, Adair grins at him. “You know, Seb.” Trying to be coquettish, though not making a particularly good job of it.

Adair, with his blonde hair and baby-blue eyes, seems the picture of innocence, and indeed in many ways he is still shockingly naïve. He still has no idea that Moran cheats at cards, for instance, despite regularly partnering him for some weeks now.

In this way though, it is true, he is far from naïve – clumsy, perhaps, but not naïve.

As soon as they are inside the house – some house borrowed from a friend of Adair's, apparently – the lad is on him, pushing him back against the wall, rutting against him.

“I've wanted you for so long,” he says as he leads Moran up to the bedroom, and Moran follows because... because... what else is there to do?

So the boy is, as they say, an invert. It was fairly obvious right from the start – Moran recognised it in him straight away, from the way Adair looked at him. The lad could have been putty in his hands even then, within hours of first meeting him. All Moran needed to do to get the young aristocrat on side and play as his partner in order to create an air around himself as being beyond reproach was smile in a certain way. A younger, different version of Moran probably would have had few scruples about bedding the boy then too – he doesn't particularly desire the lad, but sometimes gratification is gratification and it does not especially matter who it is found with.

But it is different now. Moran is older, though not necessarily much wiser. It was the Professor who changed him, gave him rather more qualms about lying with those he cared little for, and it was the Professor to whom he committed himself, in body and soul. But the Professor is gone and Moran's heart has cracked and hardened. He is alone and it's so long since he last went to bed with anyone, so long since he was touched intimately, and Adair is palming Moran's cock through his trousers and... and... it is not even that he is thinking more with that portion of his anatomy instead of his brain. It is that he has nothing to go back to – a house that is no longer a home to him, a bedroom that still has many of the Professor's possessions in it, his empty clothes that Moriarty can never wear again (not even to be buried in, because Moran has been robbed even of that much, not even finding his lover's body to lay to rest), but not _him_.

And sometimes it is easier to ignore what Moran's brain tells him to do and go with his heart – his broken, hardened heart. Even through his drunken haze, he is toying with the lad's affections and he knows it, although he never intended for this to happen; he truly only wanted Adair to become his partner at whist. But his mind is numbed by the drink or by grief or by longing that can never be fulfilled again; by the desire too to not go back to his house, to not have to spend another night tossing and turning in an otherwise empty bed.

And so, Moran succumbs.


End file.
